


Short Hair

by wth_am_i_writing



Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, Arguing, F/M, Feminist Themes, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17214923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wth_am_i_writing/pseuds/wth_am_i_writing
Summary: "Don’t you think that’s a little too short? Wouldn’t this style be better?"





	Short Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on December 30, 2014.
> 
> 12/28/18 Note: I'm redacting some of the original author's note.
> 
> Original Author’s Note: I honestly wasn’t sure if I should post this. It’s honestly more of an angry rant than anything else… I put feminism in the warnings because really this is a feminist rant in the guise of a fic. It’s probably super uncouth of me but I’m posting it >.< I hope you enjoy.

You played with your hair nervously as you waited on the couch, not used to how short it was. It was strange, having it barely brushing your ears after having it so long that it reached past your mid-back for years. Your head felt so much lighter without the hair, so you couldn’t say it was bad, and your bangs were still fairly long. The hair stylist had been thoroughly confused when you’d asked her to cut it the way you had–” _Don’t you think that’s too short? Why not something more cute? A cute bob like this would suit you so much better, or if you want it that short, how about a pixie cut like this?_ ” she’d insisted, but you had been set on your decision.

The doorbell rang, causing you to jump. You forced yourself to take a breath, nerves setting in. This would either turn out wonderfully or blow up in your face, and you _really_ hoped it wouldn’t be the latter. Standing up, you adjusted your sweater and the shirt underneath it. As satisfied as you thought you’d get with your appearance, you went to the front door and slipped into the oxford shoes you’d bought on the way home from the salon yesterday, completing your look. After taking another deep breath to steel yourself, you jerked the door open.

“I almost thought I’d have to ring aga–” N started impatiently, words dying off as he took in your appearance. His features melted into something confused and disturbed. You coughed nervously, working up the nerve to talk.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” you apologized, purposely trying to lower the pitch of your voice some. “Are you ready to go?” N snapped his mouth shut, looking you up and down.

“Have I fallen into an alternate dimension where you’re a guy?” N asked after what felt like a painfully long time. The words stung but you’d expected a similar reaction.

“No, I’m still the same,” you insisted. “If we don’t leave now, we won’t make the movie on time, you know.”

“You want to go dressed like that?” N asked, the horror in his voice clear.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” you rebuttled, looking down at the large sweater and the loose jeans you’d bought yesterday–the outfit was something N himself would likely put together. You’d also spent hours practicing to bind and stand so you’d look convincing as possible. “I think it looks quite sharp.”

“You look like a _guy_ ,” N explained.

“You can’t go to the movies with a guy? You go with Hongbin and Ken all the time,” you rebuttled, making N flush. He crowded you back inside your apartment and closed the door behind him. You swallowed nervously.

“What has gotten _into you_?” N asked, obviously very frustrated with the situation. “Why are you dressed like this and–and why did you cut your _hair_?” You sighed, stepping away from him. You were starting to get frustrated yourself.

“Do you remember what you said a few days ago?” you asked, turning away from him in hopes that it’d help keep you in check. When he didn’t answer, you looked back at him, frown deepening. “When I asked you to wear a skirt for me in bed, you told me it was disgusting.” You looked away from him again as the hurt from that conversation came back and your frustration rose. “You said only deviant _perverts_ like seeing guys in skirts and that you hated even the thought of it. And then you said you’d do it if I shaved my head and dressed like a guy.”

“So you did it so you could get me in a skirt?” N asked, tone absolutely appalled.

“It’s more than that,” you snarled. “I _know_ you just put it that way because you knew that I really loved and took care of my hair. You didn’t think I’d be willing to cut it, but what you said hurt me so bad, made me so _mad_ that I decided to do it to prove a point.” You looked back at N, the frustrated expression on his face doing nothing to calm you down.

“It’s stupid to go this far to prove a point. We could have just talked it out normally,” N bit back.

“The fact that you reacted like that when you saw me only proves to me that you needed the shock. Could you really have had a conversation about this without brushing it off if I hadn’t cut my hair?” you asked, but continued without giving him a chance to answer. “There are lots of girls who dress in a boyish manner, but no one ever finds that embarrassing–it’s cute, eccentric. But now that I’m trying to look like a guy? Now you’re embarrassed?” You stepped forward, reaching out to poke him in the chest.

“I’m not–”

“You _are_. You don’t like the way I look now, but if I asked you to wear a skirt _for five minutes in private_ , you’d like that idea even less. And it’s all because you have some screwed up idea in your head that we can’t overstep gendered appearances for our lovers.” you hissed. “That maid outfit, that nurse outfit, the schoolgirl outfit, the sexy librarian outfit–I hated them and thought it was stupid and embarrassing, but I wore them anyway because I knew it’d get you off. If I’d have said no, you would have begged me to wear them and said I wasn’t fun or didn’t love you if I didn’t. But the moment I ask you to try something for me? You tell me I’m a deviant and tell me to cut my hair off and dress like a guy like it’s an equivalent exchange, like I don’t do embarrassing things for you already.” N had clenched his jaw tight, obviously not happy at the rebuff you were giving him.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions about me,” N growled.

“And you’re proving them right,” you hissed back, stepping away from him. “I’m gonna go to that movie whether you come or not,” you stated firmly, starting to slip by him to get to the door. This was the end probably, considering how things had gone, how all the skeletons had come out of the closet. The hair, the clothes, it didn’t matter to you–your hair would grow back out and clothes could be easily changed–but his reaction to it all mattered to you greatly. N sighed in frustration and grabbed your arm. You stilled, fear suddenly coursing through you.

“W–” he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Where’s the s-skirt you wanted me to put on?”

“I-I don’t think I have one that would fit,” you stuttered, feeling your jaw go slack in shock. This was definitely an unexpected turn. “I was going to buy it after you agreed.” N let out his breath.

“Then let’s go skirt shopping.”


End file.
